Westfield High Massacre
by Marceline the Scream Queen
Summary: "One day, all you bastards are going to pay." Tate's voice was cold and if anyone had been around to hear, they might have even said it sounded evil. / My version of how I think Westfield High Massacre went down.
1. Afternoon of April 8th, 1994

As soon as the clock ticked to 2:57, the sound of students packing up started simultaneously. It was Friday and it was quite obvious everyone wanted to get the hell out of school and go party all weekend. Well, everyone except Tate.  
>For the past three days, there had been an eerie feeling in the air. Though, he didn't understand why. For the past three days, the voices had been silent. That alone should have made him the happiest boy alive.<br>Except, it didn t. There was something off about it.  
>Usually, the voices left him alone after he did something they asked. Not once in the past four years of having them speak to him had they ever left Tate alone for no reason.<br>Maybe he was afraid of what the voices would say when they returned, which, really, could be any moment. What if they were only waiting to swoop in and kill him? Shaking his head, he forced himself to make the thought go away.  
>Suddenly, the sound of the bell ringing broke him out of his thoughts. Standing up, he and the rest of the students rushed for the door, only to be blocked by their teacher.<br>"The bell doesn't dismiss you, I do," their ancient teacher, Ms. Rex, said in a_ very_ annoying tone.  
>Groaning, all of the students sat down, except Tate. He was glaring at her with an intensity that could have easily made her burst into flames.<br>Right now, he was picturing all the possible ways he could murder her. He could use various items in the classroom to knock her out, except, that would be too kind for her. If he made her suffer, he wanted her to be awake for it.  
>Then suddenly, he spotted it out of the corner of his eye. The perfect weapon.<br>_Tate walked over to Ms. Rex's desk, picking up her letter opener. It had to be at least five or six inches long. It closely resembled a knife, only, the point wasn t that sharp. Definitely not a problem for Tate.  
>With a wicked smile on his face, Tate made his way over to Ms. Rex.<br>"It's time for me to teach you a little lesson, Ms. Rex." The teacher stared at Tate with a horrified expression, which only made his smile widen.  
>Slowly walking toward her, each step rung loudly across the room. All the students that had been so eager to get out were now silently seated, watching to see what Tate would do next.<br>Now only a mere few inches from her, the boy laughed. "Aw, what's wrong, Ms. Rex? Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait, actually, I think I will in a minute."  
>Ms. Rex started to scream, but within a second, Tate had his hands locked around her throat in a death grip.<br>"You want help, huh? Well look around, bitch. You ve got a whole classroom full of students and not one of them wants to help you."  
>For a moment, Tate looked away from his stare down with the woman only to see what he said was correct. No one was moving.<br>Chuckling, he turned back to Ms. Rex, keeping one hand on her throat, the other arched back, just about to strike, then-_  
>"Mr. Langdon, would you care to take a seat so the class can be dismissed?" Ms. Rex's voice snapped Tate out of his glorious day dream.<br>Rolling his eyes, he made his way back to his seat, ignoring the glares he got from his peers. For all he cared, they could burn in hell. Which was were they were headed, anyways.  
>"Now, you are dismissed."<br>Tate waited for all of the other students to leave the classroom, most of them making an effort to bump into him on the way out.  
>Once everyone had left, he was left alone in the empty classroom.<br>"One day, all you bastards are going to pay." Tate's voice was cold and if anyone had been around to hear, they might have even said it sounded evil.  
>Grabbing his things, slowly made his way out of the school. He knew that he had missed the bus already, so there was no point in rushing. By the time he got to his locker, the halls were empty. After putting all of his books into it, he closed it, and made his way out of the school.<br>When he was about half way home, a newspaper blew into his face.  
>"What the fuck?" Tate angrily pulled the paper out of his face, about to crumble it up, when the headline caught his eye.<br>**KURT COBAIN, LEAD SINGER OF NIRVANA FOUND DEAD IN HIS SEATTLE HOME WITH A SELF-INFLICTED SHOTGUN WOUND TO THE HEAD**.  
>Tate felt his heart stop as all of the air was knocked out of his lungs.<br>"_No_."  
>He fell to the ground, paralyzed, not caring who the fuck walked by. This was impossible.<br>Not even aware that he closed his eyes, he opened them, deciding to read the article. Though, he only got two sentences in before he crumpled it up and tossed it into the street.  
>This is fucking bullshit.<br>Getting up, he started speed walking home.  
>Though, seeing more newspapers on the street with the same headline, he began running, shoving people out of the way. "FUCK YOU! AND YOU! AND YOU! FUCK EVERYTHING! THIS IS A FILTHY WORLD! THIS IS A FILTHY GODDAMN HELPLESS WORLD! THERE S NOTHING BUT SHIT AND PISS AND VOMIT IN THE STREETS! YOU'RE ALL JUST PIECES OF SHIT!"<br>Within a minute, he reached his home, completely out of breath as he stepped into the infamous Murder House he called home.  
>"Sweetie! Dinner is going to be ready in an hour! We're having ham tonight!" Tate gritted at his mother's clearly fake high pitched voice.<br>She was only using it for her boyfriend, Larry, who's cock she had been sucking off for years.  
>He didn t dare reply, knowing whatever came out of his mouth next would probably get him grounded for the rest of the year. Running up to his room, he locked the door behind him, deciding to spend the rest of the hour laying in bed and listening to Nirvana.<p> 


	2. Evening of April 8th, 1994

"Tate, honey, time for dinner!" Constance's obviously fake cheerful tone breaks Tate out of his daydreaming and causes him to roll his eyes.  
>Did this woman really need to put up this act now that she had the house back? Larry was already head over heels in love with the cockersucker, for fucksake, his family even burned themselves because of his love for her!<br>Surely, her regular personality couldn't scare him off now. They were all he had.  
>What a stupid son of a bitch. Why the fuck couldn t he see past his mother's act and kick her the hell out?<br>Tate didn't even care if that meant he was being kicked out as well.  
>He hated this place. It would be a blessing to get out of here.<br>All Larry was asking for was an early death.  
>Groaning, Tate stood up from his bed, going over to his cassette player and pressing stop on his Nevermind cassette.<br>"I'm going to miss you, Kurt," he muttered, closing his eyes and having a moment of silence.  
>Clearing his throat, Tate opened his eyes and walked out of his bedroom door.<br>Walking through the hall and down the stairs, he could almost swear he heard voices through the walls.  
>Tate always heard voices coming from behind closed doors. Though, he usually ignored it.<br>He knew he had to be insane. After all, what normal teenager would have thoughts of murder, suicide, sex, rape, torture and voices in their head to top it off? But he didn't mind that he wasn't normal. Normal people scared him.  
>When he finally reached the dining room, Larry and Addie were already seated.<br>"Hey, Addie," he said with a small smile, walking over to his usual chair and sitting down. His sister giggled in response.  
>Looking over at Larry, his face went emotionless while his tone of voice was cold. "Lawrence."<br>Larry shifted uncomfortably under Tate's gaze. This caused him to grin for only a moment.  
>The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.<br>Thankfully, after a few seconds that seemed like eternity, his mother's cheery voice came again.  
>"Ladies and gentlemen, the ham." Strutting out of the kitchen, his mother held a silver platter with ham on it.<br>Tate felt a disgusted look cross his face, how could his mother expect them to eat that?  
>Then, as an idea quickly came his mind, he grinned and tried to hold back his laughter at the thought.<br>Larry clapped as Constance made her way over to the table.  
>"Ah... Wow. That looks lovely," Larry said with a look that resembled a lovesick puppy.<br>This only made Tate's laughter harder to hold back, but he was managing.  
>As his mother set down the ham, he looked up at her expectantly, his face now going emotionless.<br>It was kind of scary how fast he could switch his emotions.  
>"Now, who wants to say grace?" His mother said with a huge smile on her face, trying to act the part of the perfect house wife.<br>Which, was pretty ironic, considering the fact that she was the exact opposite of that.  
>As his mother sat down, Tate spoke up. "Oh mother, may I?"<br>Constance gave him an incredulous look, with a glint of fear in her eye. She had good reason to be afraid of what he could say.  
>"Of course, son," Larry immediately replied, trying to act the part of the perfect husband and father. "I was hoping you would choose to become a part of this family."<br>Tate couldn't help but smile, not because he was happy, but because he couldn't wait to speak.  
>Holding out his hands to Larry and Constance, the smile stayed on his face as he closed his eyes, bowing his head down in prayer.<br>Now it was time for him to play the part of the perfect son from hell.  
>Waiting a few seconds for everyone to get settled, he then started speaking. "Dear God, thank you for the salty pig meat we re about to eat, along with the rest of the indigestible swill."<br>He could feel his mother tightening the grip on his hand, clearly starting to get pissed. But that definitely wasn t stopping him. Actually, it was egging him on. "And thank you for our new charade of a family. My father ran away when I was only six and if I had known any better, I would have joined him."  
>Constance pulled her hand away from Tate's, very annoyed at this point, hitting his arm.<br>While he flinched, he still continued. "And also because she's been trying to get back in this house ever since she lost it. Lord, a _big_ thank you for blinding the asshole that s doing my mother."  
>At this point, both Larry and Constance had let go of Tate's hands.<br>Finally opening his eyes and looking up, he finished. "So that he can t see what everybody knows," he looked over into Larry's eyes, "she doesn t really love him."  
>Addie was the first to speak, wearing a huge grin. "Amen."<br>Tate looked over at her, giving her a smile.  
><em>Click<em>. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother lighting up a cigarette.  
>Typical Constance. Smoking and drinking her life away. All that was going to bring her was an early death.<br>"Ah," Larry laughed nervously, clapping his hands together.  
>"Now, Tate," he looked over at the man, wondering how the hell he was going to try and play the father role this time.<br>"I know that you've been having a hard time making the adjustment with all the recent changes." Rolling his eyes at Larry, it was taking everything Tate had to hold back his anger.  
>"Moving back in here after the," Larry made a hand gesture towards the ceiling, "the tragedy that my only family went through."<br>Almost immediately, Tate replied, leaning in closer to Larry.  
>"They burned themselves alive after you were cheating on your wife with Constance, Lawrence." His eyes bore into Larry's, his voice cold and bitter.<br>Larry looked away for a moment, no doubt trying to find the perfect thing to say.  
>His voice started off weak, "That was nobodies fault, passion drove her to it. One day you'll understand."<br>Tate gritted his teeth, still trying to hold back his anger, his eyes glaring at Larry with the intensity of a thousand suns.  
>"There are sacrifices you have to make in the name of love." Larry was looking over at Constance, but Tate will still staring straight at him, using all of his willpower not to get up and kill Larry right then and there.<br>"On a light note," Larry reached over to the bread basket in the middle of the table, grabbing a slice, then putting it back.  
>"I have reserved tickets for everybody for Saturday at our community theater," now Larry was serving himself salad as everyone was grabbing food from the center, but Tate still stayed unmoving, focused on his prey.<br>"For the opening night of _Brigadoon!_" Larry sang the last word in the cheery voice, almost making Tate want to lose it.  
>"And I'm delighted to be debuting in the chorus."<br>From the other side of the table, Constance lifted her wine glass up, smiling over at her boyfriend.  
>"Well, I, for one, shall will be there with bells on."<br>Larry seemed delighted at her answer, clapping his hands together. "Thank you, darling, for being so supportive and encouraging. You have allowed me to explore another facet of myself."  
>Out of the corner of his eye, Tate saw Addie smile. "Yay! I love the theater!"<br>_That_ made him lose it.  
>Banging his fist on the table, breaking a plate, Tate turned to look at her, yelling, "NO, ADDIE!"<br>Shock was clear on her face, but he didn't care.  
>"You're a smart girl! You know he killed our brother!"<br>That was the moment his mother lost it. "Stop it!"  
>He looked over at Constance, feeling his eyes beginning to water.<br>"Beau died in his slumber of natural causes."  
>Narrowing his eyes at her, his mind screamed one word. <em>Bullshit<em>.  
>"Now you know he had a respiratory addlement."<br>Tate felt tears threatening to pour out of his eyes. Who knew that the fun little prayer he made would turn into this?  
>"Your brother s in a better place," Constance was now sounding like she was not only trying to convince him, but herself as well.<br>"He suffered with every breath that he took!"  
><em>Bullshit<em>.  
>"He only suffered because of you!" Tate said in a surprisingly normal voice.<br>Constance only shook her head and laughed.  
>"You know Tate, unlike your siblings, you were graced with so many gifts!"<br>Tate felt the tears slowly coming down his face, but he didn t dare to bring his hand up to wipe them.  
>"How is it that you can't bring yourself to use them?"<br>He had to look away now, letting out the breath he didn t realize he was holding in and taking in another.  
>He then met his mother's eyes again.<br>"Just a smile, or a kind word could open the gates to heaven!"  
>Finally, Tate brought a hand up to wipe the tears off of his face, sniffling.<br>Putting a sad smile on his face, he looked over at Constance.  
>"No matter how much you want it," he paused, the smile disappearing and his voice going cold, "<em>I will never be your perfect son<em>."  
>Constance gave him a sad smile back.<br>At that moment, Tate knew what he needed to do.  
>Getting up from the table, he walked off to his room without a word.<p> 


	3. Early Morning of April 9th, 1994

Reaching his room, Tate slammed the door, making a loud thud sound as the wall slightly shook. Fuck it. His head was spinning as he felt the world around him start to blur.  
>Going over to the bed, he sat on it, staring straight ahead at the wall before closing his eyes to collect his thoughts. That was when he felt it, the presence of the voices in his head. Or, as he liked to call it, <em>the darkness<em>.  
>They had been silent for the past three days, but he knew now that it was because of the death of his idol, Kurt Cobain. That was still an impossible thought. How the fuck could he be dead?<br>He then remembered, it was a self inflicted shot gun wound to the head. It was suicide.  
>At that moment, Tate somewhat understood the man. While the reasons probably weren't the same as Kurt's, suicide had always tempted him. Cutting and cocaine were the only things that kept him from doing it.<br>Though, now he was wondering why the hell he never did it. It wasn't like he was contributing anything to the world and he definitely wasn't enjoying his life.  
>It wasn't just the typical <em>oh, my life sucks because I'm such a loser<em> bullshit. While that was partially true, that wasn't the real reason he wanted to do it.  
>A huge reason was the voices. They were constantly there, unless he did something they asked, then they would leave him alone for a day to a week, depending on what he did before they returned.<br>The voices were a huge part of what made him so fucked up. He would constantly be day dreaming about torture and murder more than anything. The sickest part was that he actually enjoyed it.  
>He didn't want to live like this any longer, but he wasn't going to do some pussy thing and swallow a bottle of pills. No, he was going to go out with a fucking bang.<br>_You know what you have to do_. The voices spoke in his head. Feeling adrenaline pumping through his veins, he knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight.  
>There was simply too much going on in his head. What was he going to do? How would he do it? When would he do it? The voices instantly answered all of his questions, as he felt himself shaking in his bed.<br>Opening his eyes, he stared down at his hands, thinking the whole plan through over and over again as the voices coaxed him.  
>Before Tate knew it, his alarm clock was ringing. Quickly reaching over, he shut it off, then standing up. <em>Here we fucking go<em>.  
>Going over to his closet, he picked out an all black outfit, stripping out of his clothes and putting on the clean ones. As he zipped and adjusted his jacket, it finally sunk in. He was really doing this and there was no turning back now. Though, there was one thing he needed to do first to relieve his nerves.<br>Going over to the desk, he sat in the chair, reaching under the desk to find a small baggie taped to the bottom of it.  
>Opening it, he tipped the bag to get the last pill out. It was ironic considering that he wouldn't be needing any more after what he was going to do.<br>He then pulled out a debit card that he never used that his mother had gotten him in one of her shitty attempts to pretend that she cared when she really didn't. Tate also pulled out a twenty bill and set it to the side.  
>Taking the debit card, he skillfully crushed the pill just like he had done dozens of times before. After he was done, he set the card to the side as he picked up the twenty dollar bill and rolled it up, licking the end of it to keep it shut.<br>Tate then picked up the card again, making the crushed up cocaine into four even lines. He put the card into a random drawer, picking up the rolled up bill and lowering himself to the lines, snorting them quickly.  
>After the third line, he pinched his nose for a moment to help it go down before going down to snort the final line. Leaning back, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and feeling the cocaine starting to kick in.<br>The feelings of joy, relaxation, and adrenaline all came at once. Standing up slowly, he felt a bit shaken as he made his way over to the bed.  
><em>Look under the bed, Tate<em>. Bending over, he looked under the bed and sure enough, there were guns. Instead of questioning how the hell they got there, he simply grabbed them and put them on the bed.  
>After they were all on the bed, he moved them to the desk, and somehow a box of bullets were now there. Once again, he didn't question it, the cocaine and the voices killing off any logic he had.<br>He felt like he was almost in a dreamlike state as he loaded the guns, sniffling every once in a while out of habit. As he was loading his last gun, he stood up, setting it on the desk once it was loaded.  
>Going over to the mirror in his room, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, still shaking.<br>He, Tate Langdon, was going to shoot up Westfield High School. It was still a bit hard for him to believe.  
>He could easily just put the guns back under his bed and forget this ever happened, but something in him just wouldn't let him do it. He had to do this. There was no other option.<br>Those bastards deserved to pay for all that they had done to him. That was when another thought came to mind, what if he also shot people he liked? After all, the world was pretty shitty, why not take them down with him?  
>Grabbing a trench coat from the back of his closet, he put it on and then loaded the guns into it. Going out of his room and down the halls, everything was silent. This was a first.<br>He wondered why it was, but decided not to focus on it. There were much bigger things to worry about.  
>Stepping out of the house, he walked over to the garage, opening it manually and grabbing a can of gas along with a pack of matches.<br>Closing the garage, he glanced towards the house. An odd feeling came over him, but he shook it off. Not wanting to take the bus to seem suspicious, he started walking down the sidewalk. He wasn't going to Westfield High just yet, there was something he needed to do first.


	4. Morning of April 9th, 1994

Even though he had only been to Larry's office once or twice with his mother, Tate somehow knew exactly where it was.  
>Well, not exactly him, but the voices seemed to know where they were going.<br>Walking down the street, he got a few odd looks, but simply ignored them. They would probably know who he was tomorrow and then regret not stopping him for the rest of their lives.  
>Oh, well. Not his problem.<br>After a twenty minute walk, he reached the building. It was nothing extraordinary, it looked like any boring old office building.  
>He had no fucking clue why people wanted to work in these places. Hell, if he ever ended up working in one of those places, he would probably kill himself right then and there.<br>Oh, wait, he already was.  
>Walking into the building's lobby, he didn't bother to say hello to the people at the front desk. They didn't even notice him.<br>Going down one of the hallways, he soon found himself in front of double doors that led into Larry's office area.  
>Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.<br>_You know you want to do it, Tate, think of how that bastard made your dad run off. Think of how he murdered your brother. He needs to pay, Tate. Make him pay.  
><em>The voices spoke soothingly to him, convincing him that he needed to do this.  
>They were right, Larry did need to pay for all the shit that he did. He deserved what was about to come to him.<br>Clearing his throat, he opened his eyes, making his face emotionless as he opened the doors, spotting Larry's office immediately and walking towards it.  
>While his eyes were locked on Larry, out of the corners of his eyes he saw all the other workers acting as if they normally would, almost like he was invisible.<br>Finally reaching the glass door that opened into Larry's office, he went in.  
>Larry was doing his bullshit job, typing numbers into a calculator, stopping and looking up when he noticed Tate come in.<br>"Tate!" Larry sounded chipper at first, but then his face grew confused. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"  
>Almost immediately, Tate answered. "I'm going right after."<br>Larry's expression grew more confused, "After what?"  
>Glaring straight at the man, Tate's face still managed to stay emotionless.<br>_Do it, do it, do it_. The voices chanted in his head.  
>After staying silent for a few seconds, Larry returned to his work, punching in a few more numbers.<br>Suddenly, Tate stepped forward, pouring the gasoline onto Larry.  
>Larry jumped up, trying to wipe the gas off. "Oh, oh, oh!"<br>While the man was still trying to get the gas off, Tate quickly pulled out a match and lit it, looking at Larry as he waited for the man to notice.  
>Finally, Larry managed to open one of his eyes, covering the other with his left hand, holding his right hand up as if to stop Tate.<br>Before he could make an argument or stop the boy, Tate flicked the match onto him, watching for a moment as Larry quickly caught on fire.  
>As Larry started screaming, Tate turned away, making a quick escape from the office building.<br>On the walk out, Larry's screaming brought him a sick sense of pleasure.  
>Quite frankly, it wasn't like Tate was doing anything wrong. Larry brought it on himself.<br>He was the one who fell for his mother's tricks, causing Larry's wife and daughters to burn themselves alive.  
>It was also Larry's fault that Tate's father left him alone with the cocksucker.<br>Tate also knew that Larry had something to do with Beau's death.  
>If anything, setting him on fire was too kind. He deserved to be tortured, but Tate didn't have time for that.<br>Hopefully the fire would leave Larry's body with decent scars if it didn't end up killing him.  
>Now he would know how his wife and daughters felt like.<br>The voices praised Tate for his accomplishment.  
>Tossing the empty red can and matches into a random trash can, Tate started making his way to the place that he called his hell away from home.<br>Westfield High.


End file.
